


Bangin' Your Best Friend in Dixieland

by aceofhearts61



Category: True Detective
Genre: Anal Sex, AromanticAsexual!Rust, Comfort Sex, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Friendship, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, First Time Bottoming, First Time Topping, Friendship, Future Fic, Gay Sex, Hand Jobs, Heteroflexible!Marty, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male Friendship, Platonic Cuddling, Queerplatonic Partners, Queerplatonic Relationships, Queerplatonic Sexual Friendship, Sexual Friendship, Switching, friend sex, post-carcosa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-30 16:18:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3943372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aceofhearts61/pseuds/aceofhearts61
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rust and Marty decide to add sex to their friendship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bangin' Your Best Friend in Dixieland

**Author's Note:**

> This is a first for me. In all my years of writing and posting fanfiction, I have never before written and posted one with sex in it, let alone porn. I usually only have interest in friendship and queerplatonic relationships, but due to some meta talk and headcanoning, I had to write this version of Rust and Marty as queerplatonic partners who also happen to have sex with each other, despite not being sexually attracted to each other. 
> 
> So here you go. This may just be the one and only time I ever write and post sex fic. I'll now return to my regularly scheduled programming of Rust and Marty being nonsexual QP partners/friends.

 

2013

 

* * *

 

 

It starts after a string of bad dates, most of which don’t end in sex. Marty comes home from another one looking about as happy as a guy who works late at a job he hates, grabs a beer from the fridge, and plops down on the living couch next to Rust.

“What’s on?” Marty says, staring at the TV.

Rust glances at him. He’s smoking a cigarette. He tries not to do it inside, but sometimes, he just isn’t in the mood to stand out in the backyard or on the front steps. He doesn’t feel bad about smoking indoors when he has the house to himself.

“You’re home early,” Rust says.

“No shit,” says Marty. He sips his beer. “I was really hoping I’d get laid tonight. Been a while.”

Rust keeps his eyes on the TV and takes a quick puff on his cigarette.

“Maybe it’s just that, being in a bad mood, but on my way over here, I was thinking to myself. I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore, with these dates. I mean, they never go anywhere. I don’t think I want to them to either, if I’m bein’ honest. It’s nice to get out sometimes and talk to a pretty woman, but for the most part, I think I’m just looking for sex. And I know how that sounds.”

Rust is a little surprised at Marty’s apologetic tone. The man’s never been one to feel guilty for his sexual misdeeds. He’s heard of old age turning men soft but not about it giving them a conscience.

They watch TV in silence until Marty’s just about done with his beer. He gets up and drinks the last of it on his way to the fridge for another one, and on his way, Rust decides to take a chance.

“You ever want me to help you out, I might be amenable to trying,” he says.

Marty shuts the fridge door and pauses there, looking over at Rust from the kitchen. “How do you mean?”

Rust looks his way. “Sex. You and me.”

Marty just gawks at him, holding the second can of beer at his side. “You been doing drugs again?”

Rust looks back at the TV, not quite rolling his eyes, and smokes. “I’m just offering.”

“Rust,” Marty says. “Maybe you haven’t noticed but I’m not gay.”

“Neither am I. That ain’t a requirement.”

Marty blinks at him, wearing an expression that Rust’s seen many times before in response to him. “I’m not bisexual either.”

Rust grits his teeth in annoyed frustration and looks at him again. “Marty, I don’t even need sex. I’ve never cared for it, and I don’t give a shit if I never do it again. But if it’s something that matters to you and your usual method of gettin’ some isn’t working for you, it might be worth considering a logical alternative.”

“How the hell is gay sex with you a logical alternative?” Marty says, raising his voice now. “I’m not into men. You’re a man. And why would I want to screw someone who doesn’t even want it?”

“Because maybe I wouldn’t mind. And it’d be easy. I’m right here, and I know who you are. Nothing else would have to change; we’re not going to start dating for fuck’s sake.”

Marty returns to his spot on the couch, shaking his head and wearing that annoyed expression on his face. They sit there pretending to watch the TV as Marty drinks his second beer and Rust finishes his cigarette.

“If we were going to try anything, I don’t think we could jump into full-blown ass fucking right off the bat,” Marty says.

“Course not,” says Rust.

Marty’s quiet again for a minute.

“I could try jerking you off. See how that goes. You don’t have to do anything for me.”

Marty looks at him, as Rust stares at the TV. Then, he looks away again.

It takes a few minutes, but Marty says, “Now?”

“If you want,” says Rust.

“I don’t even know if I can get it up for another guy. I’m going to have to do it myself.”

“Fine by me.”  

“Be right back,” says Marty, as he gets up and disappears down the hall toward the bedrooms.

When he returns, he’s changed into a t-shirt and sweatpants. He sits down next to Rust again.

Rust keeps his eyes fixed on the TV screen as Marty touches himself. He’s acutely aware of every hitch of breath and noise Marty makes next to him but he pretends not to notice. He waits for Marty to acknowledge him. It takes a while, longer than Rust expected, but maybe Marty’s just stalling.

Finally, he says, “Okay. Think I’m ready.”

Rust slides over so that he’s sitting right up against Marty. He reaches into Marty’s sweatpants and closes his hand around his dick. He rubs his thumb against the hot skin a little bit as he holds it, waiting for some kind of sign that it’s all right to continue. Marty’s looking away from him, flushed pink in the face. Rust starts moving his hand up and down the length of Marty’s dick, slow and a little uncertain. He doesn’t have any experience doing this to another guy, so all he has to go on in his own masturbatory technique. He strokes Marty at a steady rhythm for a while, notes that Marty hasn’t softened at all, and listens for some kind of noise or affirming words. But Marty stays quiet.

Rust reaches down with his other hand and fondles Marty’s balls.

Marty sucks in a breath, waving his hips up and down as he sinks lower into the sofa.

Rust jacks him off without asking if Marty can pull his pants down, even though that’d make it easier. He figures this first time, maybe the next few times if there are any, Marty needs for his cock not to be in Rust’s plain view if he’s going to let this happen.

When he’s close, Marty curls his fingers into Rust’s thigh almost hard enough to bruise. “Shit,” he hisses. “Fuck.”

Rust speeds up, doesn’t look at Marty’s face in case that would make both of them uncomfortable. He stays focused on Marty’s groin area, even though he can’t see what he’s doing, and doesn’t think of anything at all.

Marty’s got his eyes shut tight and his hand clawed into Rust’s thigh and he’s silent in the minutes before his orgasm. He lets out a breath he seemed to be holding as soon as he comes, rocking his hips slightly, and Rust doesn’t stop working his cock until Marty’s boneless on the sofa, grip on Rust’s thigh loosened.

Rust takes his hands back out of Marty’s sweatpants and gets up to wash them in the kitchen sink. Neither of them speaks until Rust returns to the living room, standing at the threshold with his hands on his hips.

“Well?” he says.

“I needed that,” says Marty, after a long pause. “Not as good as fucking a woman—but better than nothing.”

Rust nods. “You going to go on a pointless trip of homophobic self-loathing and identity questioning?”

“No.” Marty watches the TV, looking relaxed and pensive. “But the jury’s still out on every other kinda thing two men can do.”

“Well,” Rust says. “You decide you want something else, let me know.”

 

* * *

 

 

Over the next two months, Marty asks Rust for a hand job about half a dozen times. He seems to grow more comfortable with the situation each time it happens. More than once, after he gets off, he asks Rust if he wants him to return the favor. Rust always turns him down.

He goes on a couple more dates with women and has sex with one of them. He doesn’t come home until seven the next morning, his clothes in disarray and a dopey smile on his face. It reminds Rust of younger Marty in ’95, screwing around with that court reporter. Rust doesn’t comment on that.  

They’re sitting on either side of one of the desks at the office one evening, after business hours, just hanging out.

“What do you think of blowjobs?” Marty asks.

Rust looks at him, smoking a cigarette. “Not keen on giving them.”

Marty nods. “Me neither.”

“Sorry.”

“I ain’t disappointed. It’s not like I can’t get em somewhere else. Just wanted to know where you stand is all.”

“I’m going to ask you a question, and I want an honest answer,” Rust says

Marty looks at him with an expectant expression.

“You ever use the Craigslist casual encounters section?”

Marty scoffs and drinks some of his iced tea that he keeps in the office refrigerator. “Rust, I know beggars can’t be choosers, but I got standards. And common sense.”

“Just asking. If you want a no strings blow job from a woman who ain’t picky, I imagine that’d be a good place to go.”

“I’m not interested in getting robbed, murdered, or infected with some STD, thanks.”

“Well, if you want casual sexual favors, I don’t think Match.com is the right pool to be fishing in,” Rust says. “That’s probably why you keep striking out. Women on there are looking for a husband, not a one night stand.”

“You heard of this new phone app that kids are using?” says Marty. “Tinder?”

“No. What’s that?”

“I guess it’s this program you install on your cell phone, to meet people for hook ups.”

“Just when you think you’ve seen it all.....”

“I thought about maybe trying it, but most of the women on there are probably a lot younger than me.”

“Never seemed to be a problem before,” says Rust.

Marty glares at him. Flips him off.

Rust returns the gesture.

 

* * *

 

One night, a little more than three months after that first hand job, Marty walks into the kitchen where Rust’s at the table with his laptop. They’ve already had dinner, and they’re winding down. Rust’s working on one of their cases, which is something Marty never does outside of business hours. Some basketball game is on TV in the living room

“Rust?” Marty says.

“What?” says Rust, not looking up from his computer.

“I think I want to try.... having sex.”

Rust leans back in his chair and looks at Marty. “Okay.”

“I think we should talk about it before we go trying to do anything. Maybe do some research.”

Rust arches one eyebrow. “Research?”

“Yeah, unless you’re an expert on gay sex,” Marty says.

“I’m not an expert, Marty, but the logistics of it seem pretty obvious to me.”

“There’s got to be more to it than you think. Guidelines, tips, whatever. I don’t want it to be a disaster, Rust. And I gotta say loud and clear, that if you change your mind, you just say the word and we’ll forget the whole thing.”

“Same goes for you,” says Rust. “I’m guessing you want to top.”

“What?” Marty says, like the detail’s never occurred to him. “Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I guess. Is that okay?”

Rust nods and drapes one arm over the back of his chair behind him, slouching into the seat. “Yeah. I always figured if we were going to do the do, I’d be catching.”

“Well, I’ll start looking for information and let you know when I’m ready.”

“All right. Anything else?”

Marty hesitates, looking uncertain. “You’re absolutely sure that you want to do this?”

“Marty,” Rust says. “I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t okay with the idea. If I change my mind, I’ll let you know.”

Marty nods and goes back into the living room to finish watching the game.

 

* * *

 

They decide they’re going to make this first attempt at sex on Saturday afternoon, just so they can take their time without worrying about interruptions or having someplace else to be. That morning, they sleep in, like always. They have lunch at home and drink beer to calm their nerves. They try to act normal, and for the most part, it’s not a stretch. But they’re both a little bit nervous.

Marty always showers first thing when he wakes up, so he waits while Rust washes up an hour after they eat. They decide to use the guest bedroom, the one that Rust sometimes sleeps in, because they don’t want to have sex in the bed they usually sleep in together. Marty sets out the lube and the condoms on the night table and paces around the room when he’s not sitting anxiously on the bed like a teenage boy who’s about to lose his virginity.

He stands up when Rust comes in wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts, his hair still damp from the shower. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” says Rust. “You ready?”

“Yeah. I guess. How do you want to start?”

Rust shrugs, hands on his narrow hips.

“Should we kiss, you think?” Marty says.

Rust frowns at him a little. “I’m not making out with you, Marty.”

“I’m not talking about making out, Rust. I don’t want your tongue in my mouth any more than you do. I mean light kissing.”

“I think I’ll pass.”

“All right, well—”

“Let’s just get down to business, all right?” says Rust, dropping his boxer shorts. “Where do you want me?”

Marty looks at his face, deliberately avoiding his crotch. “I guess you should lie down on your belly,” he says. “I’m supposed to stretch you before I try going in.”

Rust climbs onto the bed behind Marty and lies facedown, grabbing a pillow to tuck under his head and shoulders.

Marty grabs the lube from the bedside table. He’s got the jitters. It’s surreal, what they’re doing, seeing Rust lying there naked for him. He asks Rust to spread his legs some, and then he kneels between them on the bed, still fully clothed. He puts the lube bottle down for a minute and decides to just touch Rust a little bit, put him at ease. He feels Rust tense when he lays his hands on Rust’s ass like he just wants to get a feel for the other man’s shape and texture. Marty slides his hands to the sides of Rust’s upper thighs, then up around Rust’s waist. He swipes his thumbs back and forth over Rust’s lower back, realizing then that he’s not the only one who’s nervous here.

“Hey,” Marty says, his voice soft. “It’s all right. You can tell me to stop anytime.”

“I know,” says Rust.

“You sure about this?”

“Wouldn’t be lying here otherwise.”

Marty nods, then picks up the lube bottle. He knows he needs to use a lot of it, which is why he bought the biggest bottle the store had in stock. He squirts a dollop of the stuff into his palm and then spreads one of Rust’s cheeks open with the other hand, applying the lube into Rust’s crack.

Rust shivers. “Cold,” he says, though Marty suspects it was also a nervous response.

“I’m going to put in a finger now,” says Marty.

“Go ahead.”

Marty dips his forefinger into Rust’s anus, going as slow as he can, pushing it in all the way to the knuckle. It feels like Rust’s clamping down on it, and Marty doesn’t have any idea how he’s supposed to fit his cock in that same space without hurting Rust awful. He looks up at the back of Rust’s head. “How’s that feel?”

“Fine,” says Rust.

“Is that enough lube? Because I can use more, you just gotta tell me.”

“Marty, it’s one finger. You ain’t going to break me. Relax.”

Marty starts moving his finger in and out of Rust’s hole. He looks back and forth from his finger to Rust’s back, watching the rise and fall of the other man’s breath. “Did I find your prostate yet?”

“No,” Rust says. “But I reckon you will.”

Marty wiggles and pumps his finger around in him until Rust tells him to add another. When he does, he starts digging for Rust’s prostate, scraping his fingertips back and forth and pushing them as deep as he can get them.

“Does this even feel good?” he says.

“It doesn’t feel bad,” says Rust.

“That’s not the same thing.”

Rust suddenly hisses and tenses his body.

“What?” Marty says, immediately stilling his fingers.

“Think you found it,” Rust says.

“Really? Where?”

Marty pushes his fingers further in and twitches them around, until Rust says, “There. Right there.”

“There?”

“Yeah.”

“All right,” says Marty, smiling. “Finally getting somewhere.”

He tickles that spot with his two fingers, notices that Rust has his eyes closed and is breathing a little bit louder. “You ready for three?”

“Mmm,” Rust says. “Sure.”

Marty slides his two fingers out and then pushes three in. He’s relieved to see that Rust’s hole is stretching. He pumps his three fingers in and out for a couple minutes, keeping his other hand on Rust’s lower back. “You hard?” he asks.

“Little bit. You?”

Marty looks down at the bulge in his boxers. “Hell, I guess I am. Not all the way but pretty close.”

They’re quiet until Rust says, “That’s enough, Marty.”

“You sure?” Marty says, because he isn’t.

“Yeah.”

Marty takes his fingers out of Rust and climbs off the bed to retrieve the condom from the bedside table. He pets the back of Rust’s head before returning to the foot of the bed, where he drops his boxers. His cock doesn’t need more than a few strokes to get all the way up and he rolls the condom on. He blinks a few times at Rust’s backside, unsure this is really about to happen.

“Any day now, Marty,” says Rust.

“How about some music?” Marty says, remembering the iPod and speakers he put in this room earlier in the week just for this occasion.

“Whatever you want.”

Marty goes over to the dresser, turns the player on, picks a song, and then climbs onto the bed.

The opening riff of “[Free Bird](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=np0solnL1XY)” fills the room.

Rust snorts. “Marty. You are not fucking me to Lynyrd Skynyrd.”

“Oh, yes, I am,” says Marty. “Get on your knees for me?”

Rust pulls his legs up underneath himself and raises his bottom half off the bed.

Marty slathers lube all over his cock and takes Rust’s hips in both his hands, his cock bobbing in front of him. “Deep breaths, all right? I’ll take it slow.”

Rust doesn’t reply, resting on his elbows with his head down.

Marty spreads one of Rust’s cheeks and guides the tip of his cock to Rust’s hole. He starts to push inside, but he’s afraid of hurting Rust enough that he’s barely moving. He hears Rust start to breathe in and out. Once the head of his cock is in, Marty stops to let Rust adjust, and he’s already blown away at how tight the fit is.

“How we doin, Rust?” he says, left hand braced on Rust’s lower back.

Rust breathes and says, “I think you can keep going.”

Marty starts to push again and moves his hands to Rust’s hips. About halfway in, he pauses again and strokes Rust’s left side. “Relax,” he tells his friend. “Just try to relax, Rust.”

“I’m trying.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Not bad. Little pain’s normal.”

Marty’s already gotta fight the urge to slam home and start humping, and he’s not all the way in yet. He feels dazed, the room starting to fade out as his becomes intensely aware of his own body and Rust around him and against him. He sucks in a breath and blows it out.

“Keep going,” Rust says.

Marty closes his eyes as he continues to slide deeper into Rust, so slow that it almost hurts. When his whole cock is finally enveloped in Rust’s ass, he opens his eyes, and Rust grunts. Marty’s heart rate is already elevated, and he looks down at his own hands on Rust’s back in wonder. He swallows, sweat now broken out across his face.

“Marty?”

“Rust. It’s so tight. Jesus.”

“Gimme a minute,” Rust says. He takes a few slow, deep breaths.

Marty nods, eyes closing again, feeling Rust’s hips under his hands. “How’s it feel?” he says.

“Full. Pain’s fading.”

“Good. That’s good.” Marty rubs Rust’s hip again, thinking there’s no way he’s going to last longer than a few minutes.

“All right, go ahead.”

Marty starts to pull out, inhaling sharp at the sensation of his cock sliding against the ridges of Rust’s sphincter. It doesn’t feel anything like pussy, but it’s way better than he ever could’ve imagined. “Mmmm,” he says, tongue between his lips. He pushes forward again, enjoying the slowness now.

Rust keeps breathing, his skin hot under Marty’s hands.

Marty takes several strokes to settle into an actual rhythm, and he’s so absorbed in the feeling that he doesn’t notice Rust’s shoulders shaking until he opens his eyes and looks down at him. He pauses, terrified for a moment that Rust is crying—

But then he hears the laughter. Rust is laughing face down in the bed.

“Hey!” Marty says. “What’s so funny?”

Rust turns his head to the left, not quite looking back at him, and says, “First time either one of us has gay sex, and it’s to fucking Free Bird.” He laughs harder, turning his face away into the bed again.

Marty chuckles and starts moving inside Rust again, now humming along to the song. He starts to sing the lines that he knows, and that just makes Rust laugh louder.

“Lord knows I can’t change. Lord, help me, I can’t change....”

He fucks Rust slow for a few minutes, encouraged when Rust starts to make a noise in between chuckling every time Marty hits his prostate. He reaches around and finds Rust’s dick, just to make sure the other man’s hard now. He is.

“Don’t,” Rust says, sounding a little breathless. “Not now. Just fuck me.”

Hearing him say that gets Marty hotter than he ever would’ve anticipated, and he starts picking up his pace a little bit. His large hands are spread over Rust’s back and around his sides, and he’s sweating now, the bed springs creaking as he moves. Rust’s squeezing the pillow underneath his head in both fists.

The guitar solo’s in full swing. Marty shuts his eyes and tips his head back as he pumps into Rust faster now, pulling Rust back on his cock to make sure he hits his friend’s sweet spot every time.

Rust starts moaning. Honest to God moaning, and Marty’s so turned on, he just wants to fuck him for the rest of time.

“Rust,” he says. “Rust. Fuck, Rust. Yeah. Fuck yeah.”

He bends over at the waist, wrapping one arm around Rust’s chest and finding Rust’s cock with his other hand. He lays his head on Rust’s back and fucks into him, listening to Rust breathe and moan.

“Marty, shit,” says Rust. “There, fuck me there.”

Marty pumps his hips deeper, almost grinding into Rust’s ass now, trying to stroke Rust’s cock. He groans and groans, wanting to get deeper into Rust. They’re both covered in sweat and panting for breath.

“Rust,” Marty says, almost whimpering, the pleasure building in his groin. “Rust. Jesus. So close. Fuck.”

Rust starts trying to buck his ass back into Marty, and the increased friction drives Marty crazy.

“I’m gonna come,” Marty says, rising up and holding onto Rust’s hips. “Oh, shit, I’m gonna come, Rust.”

His pace quickens and turns erratic, and he starts keening even before he bursts, pumping into Rust as he orgasms and crying out, “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

And he doesn’t stop, though he slows down, once he’s finished. He takes Rust’s cock in his hand and starts stroking him. “Come on, Rust. Come on.”

It takes a few minutes of humping and jerking, but pretty soon, Rust says, “Shit. Marty. Shit.”

“That’s right. Want you to come. Want you to come, Rust.”

“Marty.... Marty! Fuck!”

Marty jacks Rust’s cock as fast as he can, still moving inside him, and finally he feels Rust’s body stiffen underneath him and Rust lets out a long moan, seed spilling over Marty’s hand. Marty doesn’t stop until Rust goes quiet.

He finally pulls out and lies down next to Rust, on his back. They’re silent as they catch their breath. Marty’s staring at the ceiling and Rust’s still on his belly.

Eventually, Rust rolls over and says, “So? What’s the straight man say?”

Marty smiles. “I could do that again. You?”

“I’ve had a lot of bad sex in my life—but that was all right.”

“Just all right, huh?”

Rust grins.

“Guess maybe this does beat striking out with the ladies more often than not,” Marty says. “Not that I’m giving them up anytime soon.”

“Marty, the day you quit chasing women is the day I call someone to take you to the morgue.”

They lie there side by side and listen to the music for a minute. “Free Bird” is over. It’s something else now.

“You know, just because this worked out, doesn’t mean we gotta do it all the time,” Marty says. “If you ever don’t feel like it, you just tell me.”

“Yeah, I know,” Rust says. “You don’t gotta be shy about asking either.”

Marty looks at him. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

* * *

 

What surprises Marty is how much things between them don’t change after that. Life goes on as usual. They go to work together, do the grocery shopping, hang out on the weekends, have dinner every night. They keep sleeping in Marty’s bedroom together most nights, and it’s not awkward. They still cuddle up sometimes, without getting handsy or turned on. Marty doesn’t suddenly start checking Rust out, and Rust doesn’t seem to look at him any different either. It really is the same as it was before.

Marty tries jacking off to gay porn one day, when Rust’s gone. He gets bored and only a little bit aroused. Ends up switching over to one of his favorite straight sites and finishes up just fine.

He tries observing himself in public to see if other men have suddenly become attractive to him, but when he looks at a guy, he still just sees a guy. Most of them are eyesores in comparison to a pretty woman, and there are a lot of pretty women. There’s just nothing all that appealing about the male body to Marty. He doesn’t care much about what Rust’s is like one way or another, when he thinks about it. He figures to a lot of people, Rust naked wouldn’t be all that alluring: the man’s in his fifties with scars and faded tattoos, a soft belly and a slender frame that’s got that aging look to it. Marty doesn’t care, and he’s glad that he doesn’t have to worry about what Rust thinks of him either.

A few weeks after his first time with Rust, Marty hooks up with a woman he meets on that Tinder thing. It’s pretty good, as far as stranger sex goes. He does get a blow job out of it.  

 

* * *

 

 

One morning, Rust wakes up to find Marty masturbating next to him. Just lying on his back, looking at the ceiling, fisting his cock under the blanket.

Still half asleep, Rust says, “You want some?”

“Nah, it’s all right. I can take care of myself,” Marty says. “Don’t want to bother you.”

Rust lies there for several seconds, his back to Marty, then says, “It’s fine. I don’t mind.”

Marty stops and turns his head on the pillow toward Rust. “You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“All right. Thanks.”

Marty retrieves a condom and the lube from the top drawer in his night table, puts the condom on his cock, and lubes up. He rolls onto his side facing Rust, who’s already slipped off his boxer briefs, and carefully pushes inside Rust’s ass. Probably because he’s just been asleep, Rust’s body seems pretty relaxed. Marty sighs behind him, as he sinks in to the base of his cock. He slides his hand under Rust’s knee that’s raised up now as he begins to thrust. Rust’s body is warm against his.

Marty leans his forehead against the back of Rust’s shoulder as he moves in him. “Fuck,” he whispers. He bites his lower lip and closes his eyes.

He’s not hitting Rust’s prostate every time, and Rust’s not even hard. But that’s fine. Rust just lies there with his eyes closed and likes the feeling of Marty next to him, touching him. Even inside him. He can appreciate the sensation of fullness, even when he’s not getting any other stimulation.

Marty starts grinding his hips into Rust’s, barely pulling out. He gasps when he starts to come, and Rust can feel Marty pulsing inside of him.

Marty exhales when he’s done but stays inside of Rust as he strokes Rust’s cock lazily.

“You don’t have to get me off,” Rust tells him, without making a move to stop him. “I’m all right.”

“Okay,” Marty says and quits.

He rolls out of bed and goes into the bathroom to clean himself up. When he returns, he slides back under the sheet and the comforter and holds Rust from behind, the two of them drifting to sleep again.

 

* * *

 

2014

* * *

 

On Valentine’s Day, Marty comes home with two bouquets of roses, one pink and one peach.

“Those better not be for me,” Rust says, his eyebrows raised.

“They’re for the girls, dumbass,” says Marty. “We’re having dinner with ‘em tonight.”

Rust nods, sticking a cigarette in his mouth. “Good. Give the peach ones to Audrey.”

* * *

 

It’s July 3rd. They haven’t had sex since January, excluding the hand jobs that Rust periodically gives Marty. They’re at home after work, hiding from the hellish heat and humidity in the comfort of their air conditioned house. Rust’s reading a book in the guest bedroom, where he goes to be alone. He’s in the armchair with his legs pretzeled on the seat in front of him, when Marty comes in.

Rust glances at him, then back into his book. “Can I help you?” he says.

“So I been thinking,” says Marty. “About bottoming.”

Rust lowers the books into his lap and looks up at him. “Okay.”

“Would you be—I mean you don’t have to but, would you be open to that?”

“Sure. If you want to try it.”

Marty swallows and looks apprehensive. “I’m pretty sure. I mean, I been thinking about it for a while now. Probably means I should at least give it a shot.”

Rust closes his book after sticking the bookmark in the bind. “We doing this now?”

“No, we ain’t doing it now,” Marty says. “We need a whole day cleared, like our first time. I just wanted to bring it up and see what you think.”

“All right. I’m ready whenever you are.”

Marty nods, sticking his hands in his pants pockets. “Maybe this weekend?”

“Yeah. Pick a day.”

“Saturday.”

“Okay.”

After Marty leaves the room, Rust can’t help but pause and reflect on the fact that had anyone told him back in ’95 or ’02 or during the ten years of his and Marty’s estrangement that one day, they’d not only being living together but fucking each other on occasion, Rust would’ve been more likely to believe in aliens.

 

* * *

 

 

They’re having drinks at their favorite dive bar on Friday evening, after they leave the office. It’s the kind of place that plays old country music and classic rock from the 70s and 80s, frequented by bearded bikers and truckers and middle-aged blue collar workers. The bartender on shift has forearms covered in tattoos and compliments Rust on the bird.

Marty hardly drinks at all anymore, but he’ll have a beer or a glass of whiskey with Rust on occasion. Rust drinks a lot less than he used to, but even after recovering from Carcosa, he just couldn’t stay away from alcohol completely. Marty says that he’d need to go to rehab to stay sober, but Rust thinks rehab is too bullshit-heavy with psychotherapy.

Marty starts talking about the woman he hooked up with two weekends ago, another Tinder find that led to an exchange of oral sex but nothing else. She had a poster of young Tom Cruise on the wall of her bedroom, and Marty got the feeling that she was thinking about Tom as he ate her out.

“Said she’s had a thing for him since _Top Gun,”_ Marty tells Rust, now finished with his beer.

“Never seen it,” says Rust.  

Marty looks at him in disbelief. “How the hell have you never seen _Top Gun_?”

“I didn’t own a TV when I had my own place. How much do you think I care about movies?” says Rust.

Marty shakes his head. “It’s on Netflix. We’re watching it. Tonight. After dinner or during, take your pick.”

“Fine.”

They watch the movie in the living room on the TV screen, as they eat Chinese for dinner.

When Goose dies and Maverick mourns him, neither of them says a word, but they share a look at one point, loaded with Carcosa and feelings they don’t have to discuss.

 

* * *

 

The next day, they sleep in until late morning, stay in bed cuddling for thirty minutes once they’re awake, then take turns showering. Rust makes lunch, while Marty chats with Maisie on the phone, and they eat at the table while Marty listens to sports talk radio.

Rust steps outside to smoke a cigarette, which chills him out some, and Marty checks his email and straightens the guest bedroom, waiting for Rust to come back.

When Rust does, Marty’s sitting on the foot of the bed with his slippers off, giving him an uneasy smile.

“We doing this?” Rust says.

“Yup,” says Marty. “I’m ready.”

“All right. Let me go wash my hands.”

Rust leaves, then comes back, closes the door behind him and slips off his cowboy boots. Marty just sits there and watches him, fingers laced together between his knees.

“Got everything we need in here?” Rust asks.

“Yeah.” Marty looks over his shoulder at the right bedside table where the bottle of lube is, along with one packaged condom.

“Why don’t you undress down to your underpants?”

“Keep those on?” Marty says.

Rust nods. “And sit in the middle of the bed.”

Rust takes off his sweatpants and his t-shirt but keeps his boxer briefs on. Marty does as he asks, stripping to his boxer shorts and sitting on the bed. Rust sits behind Marty on the bed and starts rubbing Marty’s shoulders and neck.

“Never would’ve pegged you for romantic, Rust,” Marty says, eyes opening and closing as he enjoys the massage.

“This is your idea of romance?” says Rust, arching one eyebrow behind him. “I feel sorry for your exes.”

“Asshole.”

“Just trying to help you relax, is all.”

“Mmm. It does feel nice.”

Rust is quiet for a minute, then says, “Guess this is in lieu of a blowjob. Which would probably help things go over smooth.”

“I never gave you a blowjob, and things worked out fine,” says Marty.

“True.”

But Rust suspects that Marty is a lot more nervous about this than Rust was, even if he hides it well. So he takes his time massaging Marty’s shoulders and neck, until he feels the muscles loosening and softening. He looks at the freckles peppering Marty’s back, eventually runs his hands down to the waistband of Marty’s boxers and works on his lower back. He rubs his knuckles into Marty’s flesh in a few different places, before returning to his shoulders.

“You trust me, Marty?” he says. “Because if he you don’t trust me, this isn’t going to work.”

“I trust you,” Marty says.

“And you want this?”

“Yeah.”

“All right. Take your shorts off, lie down however you want, and we’ll start.”

Marty scoots off the bed to drop his boxers to the floor, then lies on his left side, two pillows stacked under his head. His dick is limp, Rust notices as he pours some lube into his palm and coats his hand with it.

“You cold?” Rust says. “Want a blanket or something?”

“Nah, I’m okay.”

“Okay. Here we go.”

Marty takes a breath unprompted, which tells Rust just how nervous he is.

Rust starts to stick his forefinger into Marty’s ass, slowly sliding it forward to his knuckle. His fingers, unlike Marty’s, are long and slender for a man’s. He wishes he could actually see Marty’s face during this prep process, but he’ll make do with verbal communication.

“How’s that?” he says.

“Feels just like going to the proctologist,” says Marty, sounding calmer. He chuckles a little bit.

“I ain’t been.”

“No, of course, you haven’t, Rust. God, I gotta drag you to the doctor the rest of our lives, don’t I?”

Rust moves his finger inside Marty, making a circular motion a few times and feeling around in the hopes of finding the prostate. When he doesn’t get a reaction, he decides to add his second finger, asking for permission before he does. He rests his free hand on Marty’s shoulder and rubs his thumb there in a comforting gesture, as he slides his two fingers in and out of Marty’s ass and scissors them. He wiggles and crooks his fingertips in search of the sweet spot, dipping further in.

Marty’s body jumps all of a sudden, when Rust finds it.

“Whoa,” Marty says. “Do that again.”

Rust starts rubbing his two fingertips against the sweet spot.

Marty hisses and blows out a breath.

Rust decides to stay with the prostate for a minute, keeping his fingers still except for the tips that he uses to rub circles into the squishy gland. He moves his hand off Marty’s shoulder, reaches around him, and starts rubbing Marty’s cock that immediately starts to harden.

“Starting to feel like I need to piss,” says Marty, after a few silent minutes. His voice sounds strained, and his breathing’s quickened.

“That’s normal,” says Rust. “Don’t worry about it.”

He adds a third finger and stretches them apart inside Marty. When he starts to massage Marty’s perineum with his thumb, Marty groans.

“Son of a bitch,” Marty says.

“Try bearing down on my fingers,” says Rust. “Like you’re going to take a crap.”

Marty does and immediately groans again, Rust’s fingertips hitting his prostate more fully. His cock is fully erect now and achingly hard in Rust’s hand. His breathing is labored, and his skin’s flushed from head to toe.

“Think you should fuck me now,” he says. “You keep fingering me like that and I’m gonna come.”

Rust pulls his fingers out of Marty. He climbs off the bed and strips off his clothes, dumping them on the floor. He takes a few minutes to rub his own cock to an erection and rolls on the condom, slathers it with lube, then turns toward the bed again.

“Lie on your back,” he tells Marty. “I want to see your face.”

Marty rolls onto his back and pulls his knees up, his feet flat on the bed. Rust gets up in between his legs, grabs a pillow and sticks it under Marty’s hips. The two men look at each other.

“You comfortable?” Rust says.

“Yeah,” says Marty.

“Ready?”

“It’s now or never.”

“You tell me to stop if it hurts or you change your mind. I promise I’ll take my time.”

Marty nods and fans his legs out to the sides, his knees still bent.

Rust takes his cock in his hand and guides the head to Marty’s open hole. “All right, deep breath,” he says.

Marty inhales.

Rust begins to push inside of him, stopping when the head of his cock’s disappeared. “How’s that?”

Marty’s staring up at the ceiling and breathing in through his nose, out through his mouth. “It’s okay. Burns a little bit but I can handle it.”

Rust reaches for Marty’s cock and rubs it up and down a few times.

“Keep going,” Marty says, glancing at Rust and nodding.

Rust inches his cock forward as slow as he can, pausing once more when Marty tells him to. When Rust’s finally in to his balls, he stops and just allows the both of them to get used to the feeling. “That’s it,” he says, his voice a low murmur with the slightest tension in it. “How you doing?”

Marty gives a shaky little laugh in between breaths, blinking at the ceiling. “I don’t really know what to say.”

“You in any pain?”

“No. It just feels really full.”

“Tight as a motherfucker,” Rust says, in between inhaling and exhaling.

“Feelin good to you?” Marty asks.

Rust nods, his hands on Marty’s knees. “But this ain’t about me.”

“It’s about both of us. Always. I don’t want you doing something you hate.”

“Trust me, I don’t hate this.”

Marty nods, closes his eyes and swallows. “God—think I really like the feeling.”

“Not even fucking you yet,” Rust says.

Marty strokes his cock a few times, getting his bearings, then lays his hand back down on the bed. “All right. Try moving now.”

Rust slowly starts to pull out of Marty’s ass, stopping just before the head emerges, then pushes back in. He closes his eyes as the length of his cock disappears.

“Shit,” Marty whispers. “Feels good just going in. You ain’t even hit my prostate.”

“I will,” says Rust, moving back out again.

He spends a few minutes going in and out at that snail’s pace, the two of them getting more and more aroused as he does.

“Shit, Rust,” Marty says. “Why didn’t you tell me how amazing this feels?”

Rust doesn’t answer, his eyes shut as he concentrates on the feeling of being inside Marty, of his cock moving and his heart beating fast in his chest.

“Want you to go faster now. I’m ready.”

Rust places his hands on Marty’s hips and starts to speed up gradually.

“Fuck!” Marty says, in a strangled voice when Rust hits his prostate.

Rust settles into a steady, moderate rhythm, pumping his cock and making sure to drive all the way in to hit Marty’s spot. He grips Marty’s hips and moves him to a better angle on the pillow, allowing Rust to go deeper.

“Oh, my God,” Marty says, his face now bright red and his eyes scrunched up, palms flat on the bed. “Oh, my God.”

Rust’s clenching his jaw and breathing through his nose, fucking his best friend like he hasn’t fucked anyone before.

“Rust,” Marty says, like he can barely breathe. “Jesus Christ, Rust.”

Rust slides his hands up the undersides of Marty’s thighs, hooks them under Marty’s knees and pushes Marty’s legs up into the air, holding them there. He keeps his eyes closed and has to try hard not to make a sound, listening to Marty whimper and groan and the bed squeaking as the mattress bumps against the headboard. He starts holding Marty’s legs up by the ankles, fucking him a little harder.

“Oh, Jesus, fuck,” Marty cries. “Holy shit, Rust. Holy shit.”

It almost sounds like he’s about to burst into tears, so Rust looks at him and says, panting, “You all right?”

“Yes! God!”

“You want me to stop?”

“No! God, no, fuck me! I need you to fuck me, Rust, I need it bad.”

Rust thrusts into him for another minute or two, then drops Marty’s legs and leans over him, putting his hands down on the bed around Marty and drilling him almost straight down, Marty’s ass angled up toward the ceiling. They’re both sweaty all over, gasping for breath, pink-skinned and hot. Rust bucks his hips like he wants Marty to be sore for a week, like he wants to get down into the deepest part of his friend.

Marty looks up at him, his chest and belly heaving, his eyes watering, his mouth open with ragged breaths. He’s gripping the sheets in his fists. He feels pleasure like white fire in his ass and his belly, his cock rigid and untouched.

Rust finally folds over him, wraps Marty in his arms, and Marty locks his legs around Rust, feeling him hit even deeper like Marty didn’t think was possible. Rust is face down in Marty’s neck and shoulder, and Marty hugs him, stretching his neck and tilting his head back. Rust grinds his hips into Marty’s, his strokes shorter now, their bodies worming against each other.

“Oh, my God, oh, my God,” Marty whines in a small voice, his heart battering against his chest.

Rust moans into his neck, and the delayed sound sends an electric bolt through Marty.

Marty’s got his right arm across Rust’s shoulders and his left hand cupping the base of Rust’s skull. His cock is sandwiched in between his belly and Rust’s, and the friction heightens the pleasure in Marty’s groin.

“Fuck me,” Marty says, almost whispering. “Keep fucking me. Just like this, Rust. Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.”

Rust just moans again in response, his chin in Marty’s shoulder now and his head against Marty’s cheek. “Fuuuuuuck,” he says. “Marty.”

Marty’s thighs are shaking around Rust’s waist now, but he somehow feels like he needs to support Rust, not the other way around.

“Gonna come,” Marty whispers, a tear at the corner of his eye. “Gonna come.”

Rust rises up just enough to look into Marty’s eyes, then rests his forehead against Marty’s, his thrusts slower than before but relentless.

“Yes!” Marty cries out as he feels his orgasm cresting. “Yes! Yes, yes!” He throws his head back as Rust lifts his. “Rust! Rust! Fuck, I’m coming!” He shouts and lets out a guttural groan as he ejaculates, the orgasm erupting in his ass and spreading to his cock, his body twitching. “Fuck!”

Rust starts whimpering with his eyes closed, burying his cock as deep it’ll go into Marty as he starts to come, holding it there. Marty clenching around him tips him over the edge. The muscles all through his belly start to quiver, his sweat slick thighs trembling, and he drops his head between his shoulders and moans long and low as the orgasm rips through him. He says Marty’s name, dragging out the sound.

When it’s finally over, he slumps forward, collapsing onto Marty—his cock still inside Marty’s ass. Marty holds onto him as they calm down, the two of them shivering with aftershocks and adrenaline.

“Rust?” Marty says, after a while.

“Mmm?” says Rust.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. You?”

“I think I mighta seen God,” says Marty. “Just a glimpse of the afterlife. But apart from that, yeah.”

“Equating physical pleasure to an immaterial heaven that most likely doesn’t exist is unnecessary and doesn’t make any sense,” Rust says, his tone equivalent to an eye roll.

“Whatever. Killjoy.”

After a pause, Rust says, “So, I guess this means you’re going to bottom again.”

Marty snorts. “No shit.”

“All right.”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Yeah.”

Marty hesitates, petting the back of Rust’s head. “I mean this in a totally not romantic, not sappy way..... I like having you in me. Not just because it feels good physically but because it’s you. Hope it’s okay for me to say that.”

Rust lifts his head and looks at Marty. “It’s okay,” he says. “I agree with you.”

He lays down on Marty again, his cock now soft inside him.

“I need a shower,” Marty says.

“In a minute,” says Rust.

 

* * *

 

 The next time they have sex, four weeks later, Marty bottoms again.

Rust fucks him from behind, starting out with an unlit cigarette in his mouth and sunglasses on, the “[Danger Zone](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yK0P1Bk8Cx4)” song from _Top Gun_ blasting through the iPod speakers.

“This is what you get for ‘Free Bird,’ motherfucker.”

Marty laughs until he cries.

* * *

 

2015

* * *

 

Rust disappears on January 3rd, which isn’t much of a surprise to Marty. He’s gone when Marty wakes up in the morning, so Marty goes out to run errands and stop by the office and tries not to worry. When he comes home around half past five in the afternoon, the house is empty and the truck isn’t in the driveway. Marty contemplates calling Rust, then decides to text instead.

 _Just want to know you’re okay_ , he says.

Rust doesn’t reply.

Marty decides to go to one of the bars he likes that serves decent food, instead of sitting around at home feeling anxious. He sits at the bar and drinks water and iced tea, watching the game on one of the only TVs in the place. He makes small talk with the bartender, checks his phone every ten minutes, and after an hour and a half, he orders dinner. He takes his time eating and allows himself one beer in a bottle.

Once his plate is clear, he feels torn between wanting to get home right away in case Rust is there and wanting to stall in case Rust isn’t. He checks his phone again, but there are no messages or missed calls. He checks his watch, even though he just saw the time on his phone, then happens to look over at his right and catches a pretty woman in her thirties looking at him. She smiles and averts her eyes.

He smiles back, surprised that someone like her would be attracted to a guy like him. Any other night, he’d go right over and start chatting her up, but as crazy as it is, he doesn’t want to risk actually leaving with her because if he does, God only knows when he’ll get home. And he needs to be there when Rust shows up.

He hangs around until quarter to ten, then finally walks out without a last look at the woman at the end of the bar. He drives home without speeding and just hopes that Rust is there and sober and all right. Rust’s a lot better now than he was back in ’12, when they reconnected—but Marty’s not stupid or unrealistic. He knows a couple good years aren’t going to fix everything broken and hurting in Rust Cohle. He can’t even imagine what it must feel like to have a dead child, and he’s not exactly close to his daughters, even after the progress he’s made with them since Carcosa.

He breathes relief when he turns the corner onto their street and sees the red pickup in his driveway. He pulls his car into the garage and tells himself to act cool.

Rust’s smoking a cigarette on the living room couch. The house is pitch dark except for the Christmas tree lights, their bulbs red, blue, green, and orange. Marty used to put up a fake mini tree when he lived alone, but the last three Christmases where Rust has been here, they’ve had a real full size tree. They both like the way it makes the house smell, and they decorate it together, slowly accumulating ornaments as they find ones they like each holiday season.

“Hey,” Marty says, deciding not to switch on the lights in the kitchen.

“Hey,” says Rust, the smoke from his cigarette squiggling white in the air before him.

“Where you been?”

“Out.”

Marty decides not to push it. “I had dinner. I didn’t order you anything because I wasn’t sure if you were coming back tonight.”

“I’m not hungry,” Rust says.

Marty looks at his silhouette from where he stands in the kitchen and purses his lips. He never knows what to say or do on Sophia’s birthday. It makes him feel useless.

“I’m sorry for not communicating,” Rust tells him. “Just needed to be on my own.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” says Marty.

They’re silent for a minute, Rust on the couch looking at the tree and Marty in the threshold between kitchen and living room, looking at him.

“You okay?” Marty asks.

“Yeah,” says Rust.

Marty pauses, watching the other man in the dark. “Come here.”

Rust turns his head to look at him. He doesn’t move for a moment, then leans over to put out his cigarette in the coffee table ash tray and gets up. He crosses the room, and Marty pulls him into a hug. Rust wraps his arms around him in turn, and they stand there together for a minute, just holding onto each other. Marty strokes Rust’s back after a minute, and Rust relaxes into his embrace.

“You need anything?” Marty asks, when he pulls away.

Rust is quiet for a beat. “Sex, maybe.”

“Really?”

Rust shrugs. “Kinda have the feeling you want to get laid.”

They haven’t had sex since September. They’ve gone longer without it before and they’ve gone shorter lengths of time too. It all depends on Marty’s libido and whether or not he hooks up with women.

“I’m not going to do that with you unless it’s something you want,” he says. “Not today, of all days.”

“Maybe I need it. Take my mind off things. At least for a little while.”

“You sure?” Marty says, looking at Rust with earnest eyes, hand still on Rust’s shoulder.

Rust pauses, then nods. “Yeah. I think I am.”

“All right. You want to bottom or top?”

“Bottom. Why don’t we do it in here. On the floor, maybe.”

“I’ll go get the stuff,” says Marty, before he disappears down the bedroom corridor.

Rust drinks a glass of water in the kitchen, then sits on the living room sofa and waits.

Marty comes back dragging the futon they keep in storage, Rust’s favorite blanket from the guest room bunched under one arm. He sets the futon on the carpet in front of the Christmas tree and arranges the blanket over it. He starts unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants, as Rust unbuttons his shirt and lays it on the sofa. When Marty’s standing there in his socks, undershirt, and boxers, Rust goes over to him and finishes stripping. He lies down on his back and bends his knees up.

But instead of going straight to work, Marty lies down next to him, propped on one elbow and facing Rust. Rust looks at him, and Marty offers a little smile. Marty reaches out and cups Rust’s cheek in his hand, wiping his thumb over the weathered skin. He leans over and kisses Rust’s hairline. When he looks at the other man again, Rust’s eyes are gleaming.

“We don’t have to do this,” Marty says, his voice low. “We can just go to sleep, cuddle. Whatever you want.”

Rust swallows and when he speaks, his voice is hoarse. “I want to, Marty. I want to feel better.”

Marty nods. “Okay.”

He moves over to the foot of the futon and grabs the lube bottle off the coffee table. He coats the fingers of his right hand with the lube and slides his forefinger into Rust’s hole. A minute or two later, he adds the second.

Rust lies there with his eyes closed and tries to relax, tries to let his emotions wash away like the tide on the beach.

Marty starts to fondle Rust’s soft cock as he fingers him, massaging it without the usual up-and-down motion. He does that a little while and adds his third finger, looking up at Rust every few moments. He feels himself getting hard but he focuses on his friend.

When Rust seems ready, Marty stands up and sheds his boxer shorts, rolls a condom on and tugs his erection to full mast. He kneels down on the futon and rubs Rust’s knee. “Ready?” he says.

“Yeah,” says Rust, still sounding raspy and blue.

Marty lines his cock up with Rust’s hole and starts to push inside, taking his time. Rust inhales a sharp breath and hums as he does, eyes closing again, and Marty closes his eyes too when he’s all the way in, taking a moment to settle into the tight warmth. It’s always these first few minutes of being inside Rust that make Marty want to stay forever.

“Go, Marty,” Rust says.

Marty opens his eyes and looks at him. “You all right?”

“I’ll be better when you start moving.”

Marty starts fucking him, choosing the long and slow stroke, feeling every inch of his cock sliding out and back in again. He doesn’t need to ask Rust if he’s hitting the spot, because Rust starts grunting in time with Marty. Marty’s cock is extra sensitive, tingling and pulsating as he moves in Rust. He hasn’t had sex in about a month, and he doesn’t know if that’s why he’s getting more sensation than usual or if it’s something else. He wants this to last a while, wants to give Rust all the comfort and pleasure he can, even if it means stalling his own orgasm. He tries to concentrate on keeping himself in check.

Rust wraps his legs around Marty and pulls him deeper in on a forward stroke.

“Fuck,” Marty chokes, as his body tilts over Rust and he braces his hands on the futon. He looks down at Rust who’s right underneath him, the Christmas tree lights red and orange on his face, and watches him as he pumps in and out of Rust’s ass. The room feels hotter, and he’s sweating now. He sees Rust’s eyes drift closed, then open again to look at him.

“You feel so good,” Marty says. “Love being inside you.”

“You feel good too,” says Rust. “God.”

Marty rotates his hips in a circular motion several times, feels his belly barely brushing along Rust’s half-hard cock, feels the weight and heat of Rust’s legs around his waist. He sinks down on his elbows and lays his forehead on the futon next to Rust’s head. He fucks into him for a couple minutes, before Rust finally wraps his arms around Marty’s back. Marty’s breathing hard in Rust’s ear, and Rust is quiet except for the periodic hitch in his breath.

“Rust,” Marty says, like somebody’s choking him. “Jesus Christ, Rust.”

Rust tucks his chin and buries his face in Marty’s shoulder, hiking his legs back up around Marty’s waist and squeezing, trying to bend his hips up in an angle that draws Marty in deeper.

Marty’s panting, fucking Rust a little faster now but not as fast as he could go if he just wanted to come. “Tell me you’re enjoying this,” he gasps.

Rust doesn’t say a word for a second, then tips his head back on the futon and moans.

Marty slides his right hand down over Rust’s side, then shoves his arm underneath the other man.

“Fuck, Marty,” Rust cries. “Please. Please.”

“Please, what?” Marty says, voice husky and his rhythm steady. “God damn it. Fuck.”

“Please.” Rust’s mouth falls open, his eyes closed, his neck exposed and his head tipped back on the edge of the futon. “Shit. Marty. Christ, fuck me faster.”

“I’m going as fast as I want. This ain’t no quickie. Shit.”

Rust starts moaning and whimpering, holding onto Marty with arms and legs, sweat dripping down his face and neck.

“Ah, shit,” Marty says, trying to rise up on his elbow. “Shit, Rust. Fuck, it feels good. Fuck.”

“Marty,” Rust half-gasps and half-whispers. “Marty. It almost fucking hurts. Shit.”

“Want me to jack your dick?”

“No.” Rust covers the back of Marty’s head with his hand. “No.”

They fuck in silence for a few minutes, except for the heavy breathing and groaning.

Marty lifts his head to look at Rust and sees that his friend’s face is red, his eyes glazed and half-open, his lips parted. He reaches up and paws at Rust’s face with his hand, dropping his own head back down on the futon. Rust sounds like he’s wheezing now, his breath shallow. Every inch of his skin is hot.

“Marty,” Rust whispers, closing his eyes.

“Breathe deep,” Marty says, half groaning the words. “Fuck. Rust, breathe.”

Rust inhales and whimpers on the exhale. Marty’s cock pumping in and out of his hole relentlessly, hitting his prostate every time. Heat and pleasure pools and builds in his belly. The muscles in his thighs are tiring, but he refuses to drop his legs.

“Fuck, yeah,” says Marty, going faster now, losing control of his body. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, Rust, fucking hell. Shit.”

He finds Rust’s hand fisted into the blanket and clasps it with his own, grinding his hips harder against Rust’s. “Gonna come, Rust. You’re gonna make me fucking come, shit.”

A minute later and Marty’s grunting and shouting, hammering inside Rust as he comes, waves of heat and cold passing through his body. His mind whites out for several seconds, and the explosion of pleasure in his groin is almost too much.

Rust starts moaning, squeezing Marty’s hand with his own, pulling Marty deeper into him with his legs.

“Yeah, Rust,” Marty says, still pumping inside him through the aftershocks of his orgasm. “Fuckin’ come. Fuckin’ come when I’m inside you.”

“Marty!” Rust yells, clenching his ass around Marty’s dick. “Marty, Marty! Fuck! Fuck!”

He grunts as his body heaves and his hips buck and his seed spurts onto his belly. He’s quivering as the orgasm flows through him and subsides, sweat beading his forehead and running out of his hair. Marty holds him in his arm, the other supporting his weight beneath him.

Marty finally pulls out when Rust’s calmed down and collapses next to him on the futon. They lie there in silence for a while, as their breathing evens out.

“Christ,” Marty says, staring at the ceiling. “Haven’t had sex like that in a long time. You feel better?”

Rust takes a breath, looking like he’s ready to pass out. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“My pleasure.” Marty rolls onto his side, reaches over Rust and pulls the blanket over his friend, then folds his side of it over himself and slips his arm around Rust’s chest. “Tell you a secret?”

“Mmm?”

“Sex with you is better than it is with my dates. And I’ve had anal sex with women.”

“That your way of asking to make this a frequent occurrence?” Rust says.

“No,” says Marty. “It kinda makes it better, only doing it once in a while. Every time’s great.”

“I don’t even suck your dick.”

“Yeah. That’s true. Always have loved me a good blow job. But I mean, it’s not necessarily that sex with you is more physically pleasurable, although often times it is. No ass in the world can replace pussy, that’s for sure. But with you, it just feels..... I dunno, nicer.”

Rust doesn’t reply. A minute later, he rolls into Marty and hugs him, resting his face against the other man’s chest.

 

* * *

 

They take Audrey and Maisie on vacation in May, when the weather’s beautiful. They rent a cabin on False River Lake, smoke the pot that Audrey brought with her, grill burgers and hot dogs and chicken, spend late nights drinking beer around a fire. The girls go swimming in the lake, while Rust and Marty fish in a flatboat that Marty rented. They watch the stars and play loud music as the girls dance on the banks of the lake as the two men watch. It’s the nicest weekend Rust and Marty have had in a long time, the best interaction with the girls that Marty’s had so far in his quest to rebuild his relationships with them.

Their last night, Rust’s outside on the porch smoking a cigarette when Audrey joins him. They always did like each other, when she was growing up, and they’ve discovered that they still do. They talk a lot about art, and Audrey seems to respect and value Rust’s life advice in a way that she doesn’t quite with Marty.

“Thanks for inviting us out here,” she tells him, as they smoke together. “It was fun.”

“Thank you for coming,” says Rust. “Meant a lot to your dad.”

Audrey pauses a while, then says, “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“Shoot.”

“Are you and my dad seeing each other?”

Rust looks at her. “What makes you ask that?”

Audrey shrugs. “Well, you live together. Neither one of you’s had a girlfriend since you moved in. You’re obviously close. I just thought I’d ask. I mean, I guess it’s none of my business, but I’ve been wondering for a while now. My dad’s said some fucked up shit about gay people in the past, so the idea of him getting a boyfriend is kinda scandalous.”

Rust looks out at the lake encircled with trees and at the night sky above it. “Your dad’s my best friend,” he says. “Best friend I ever had, tell you the truth. I think he’d say the same about me. We’re living like we do because it’s good for the both of us. We got tired of being alone, and we obviously can’t make things work with women for shit, so..... He still sees them, casually. Don’t know if you knew that. I’m sure he doesn’t mention it to you and your sister because it’s nothing serious, but he’s been going on dates since before I came back.”

Audrey nods and takes a drag on her cigarette.

Rust’s quiet for a minute, then adds, “I know it’s not something you see every day, couple of guys our age living with a friend, but it works for us.”

“So you’re not a couple?”

“Not in the romantic sense, no.”

Audrey thinks about that. “Well,” she says. “It doesn’t matter to me one way or the other. He’s a lot happier with you around—and things have been better between him and me since you moved in with him. So thanks.”

Rust gives her a sidelong look, surprised at her gratitude. “You’re welcome,” he says.

 

* * *

 

 Rust’s reading a book in bed one night, when Marty slides under the sheet and comforter next to him after brushing his teeth.

“Hey, Rust?”

“Yes, Marty?”

“Kinda in the mood for sex.”

Rust glances at him. “Not tonight,” he says. “Haven’t been feeling all that comfortable with the idea lately, though I’m sure it’ll pass.”

Marty nods. “All right.”

Rust reads in silence for a minute. “Could give you a hand job when I’m finished.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know I don’t. But I’m pretty sure I could if you want it, and be okay.”

Marty doesn’t reply at first, then says, “Only if you’re okay with it.”

He rolls over onto his side, his back to Rust, and waits.

When Rust is done reading, he puts the book on his night table, turns out the light, and presses himself up against Marty’s back. He reaches around Marty and jerks him off, then keeps his arm curled around him as they fall asleep.

* * *

 

It occurs to Marty one day in September. It’s raining, the light filtering through the window from outside a bluish gray, and he’s cuddling Rust in the master bed. The bed is made—Rust makes it every morning—and they’re lying on it covered with a spare blanket from the linen chest set against the foot of the bed. Their shoes are on the carpet and they’re full dressed in jeans and t-shirts. Marty’s holding Rust from behind, temple against the back of Rust’s shoulder. They’ve been lying there in silence for a while, listening to the rain.

“Hey, Rust?” Marty says.

“Yeah, Marty?”

Marty pauses, unsure what will happen if he says it. But he has to tell Rust. “I love you.”

Rust rolls over to face him, and his expression is inscrutable.

“I don’t mean that I’m in love with you. But I—I love you. Glad you’re here.”

Rust looks at him with some kind of emotion in his eyes. “I love you too,” he says.

Marty could not have anticipated the feeling he gets, hearing that from Rust. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Marty rests his hand on Rust’s side, and Rust reads the signal, closing the space between them. They hold onto each other for a long time.


End file.
